


One Thing After Another

by Militem (ava_militem)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Danse has a bad day, Established Relationship, F/M, Kissing, Rough Kissing, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 02:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_militem/pseuds/Militem
Summary: A series of misfortunes not only leaves Danse irritable but also lands him in hot water. Thankfully Layla wants to help him blow off some steam.





	One Thing After Another

Saying Danse was having a bad day was a gross understatement. The day had started off wrong when for some unforeseen reason his alarm clock didn’t go off at 0530 hours sharp and he had instead woken at 0613 in a sleep-fogged daze only to leap out of bed and step in a pile of dog vomit. He adored Dogmeat with all his heart but stepping into a pile of alarm clock parts and digesta was not his preferred morning wake-up.

Being late to wake meant the usually empty showers now had a long line of bleary-eyed knights and scribes waiting to use up whatever hot water the Prydwen’s engines could manifest. He _could_ use his rank to push ahead but for Danse that was out of the question. He stood, weighing his options when a soft, familiar voice called to him.

“Paladin.”

Layla stood at the head of the line, towel over her shoulder and kit in hand, her blonde hair tousled from sleep.

“You’re getting a late start,” she remarked with a slightly surprised look.

“Dogmeat decided to use my alarm clock as a chew toy,” he replied with a pointed look that earned him a guilty glance from his Knight.

“I’m sorry...I forgot he did that. Take my spot. I’ll head down to the airport.”

Danse sighed in relief, “I owe you one.”

She smiled a smile that made his body warm before taking her leave. She knew the Paladin would make good on his promise.

After an inconsistently lukewarm shower, the Brotherhood Paladin returned to his quarters, relieved to find Layla had cleaned the mess and taken Dogmeat with her. He dressed, grabbed his rifle and headed for the supply locker and then power armor bay. He grumbled when he realized halfway across the Prydwen that he had forgotten his key for the fusion core locker. Once he had a few cores in hand he went to retrieve his precious power armor.

Except where his armor should have been stood an empty rack and a rather sheepish looking Proctor Ingram.

“I have good news and bad new Paladin,” she stated.

“It’s a bad news kind of day, Ingram. Did my enhanced actuators not arrive?”

Ingram hummed and looked away momentarily, “Good news is they did and I installed them for you…”

Danse took a sharp breath and tried not to let his glare get too piercing. Proctor Ingram was the _only_ person allowed to work on his armor; he trusted her explicitly with its maintenance when he was busy. He braced himself for the bad news.

“...but a newly promoted Knight is apparently dyslexic and when I said the fourth rack on the left, they went right. Your suit was on a vertibird to Boston before I caught on. I know a sorry doesn’t cut it but I’ll make sure the suit is brought back as soon as possible, in one piece, and in perfect working order. I don’t have a spare either...”

If Danse’s heart beat any faster he may have to see Cade. He felt sick, his stomach twisted horribly and he was at a loss, his mouth gaping wordlessly for several moments as his face reddened.

“A name, Proctor.”

“Oh no, big guy, I don’t want to have to explain to Elder Maxson why there is a dismembered body hanging from the forecastle. I’ll send a scribe to find you the second it is returned. Mistakes happen.”

Danse was fairly certain steam was coming out of his ears as he marched towards the mess to break his fast. Clearly, he needed his own rack in his quarters, he’d fill out the request after breakfast and deliver it to the Elder personally. Unacceptable that this could even happen, how did that Knight not see the Paladin rank on the arm? That was basic knowledge a squire learned and…

...And there was now hot coffee spilling down his front. He groaned audibly.

Danse closed his eyes and took a long deep breath; one...two...three...

“I am so sorry Paladin, I didn’t see you there,” came the accented, all too chipper voice of Proctor Quinlan.

His eyes snapped open and he had to remind himself that it was against the Codex to harm a fellow soldier, let alone a Proctor. His skin burned from navel to crotch; thankfully it wasn’t hot enough to cause lasting damage but he would need to change his uniform.

Danse sighed agitatedly and wordlessly headed back to his room and grabbed a clean uniform. He stripped down the oddly sticky one and replaced it with a clean yet well-used suit. How much damn sugar did Quinlan put in his coffee?

At this point, his temperament had leveled off at highly irritable and would likely remain there until his power armor was safely encasing him. He grabbed a requisition slip and begin filling it out before tucking it in his pocket and heading to the Observation deck.

Elder Maxson stood with the four squire who lived aboard the airship, his hands folded behind his back as he addressed them formally.

“I’m sorry to inform you all but the Lancer-Captain is rather under the weather today. Unfortunately, I will need to cancel your training exercise at the Airport today squires...excuse me a moment,” the Elder turned his attention away from the heartbroken squires to his Paladin, “Paladin Danse, what can I do for you?”

Danse saluted, standing at the ready, “There’s been a...problem in the repair bay. My power armor was taken. I fear my scouting mission today will need to be delayed. I would also like to put in a request for a personal armor rack for my quarters.”

He handed over the slip, face deadpan, and noticed a twitch under the Elder’s beard. Was that a smile?

The Elder cleared his throat, “Proctor Ingram already informed me of your predicament, so I’ll consider your request. Since your own mission is delayed, perhaps you can take over for Kells today. He had planned a mock scouting mission for the squires today but came down with the flu. The squires and I would appreciate it if you took over the mission.”

Danse looked to the four young pairs of eyes trained on him, their eager gaze melting his anger-hardened shell, “Of course, Elder. It would be my honor.”

The squires gathered could barely contain their excitement and Danse found his mood moderately improved at their eagerness.

* * *

Two hours later, Danse found himself leading the four squires through the remains of a crashed  airplane. Layla had set four caches, one for each of the squires to retrieve, and was guarding the perimeter with Dogmeat while Danse instructed the children on how to look for fresh footprints and signs of recent activity. So far they found three and were hopefully following a trail that made way to the fourth.

Being outside and spending time with the youngsters had improved his dour mood and he’d only thought about the potential state of his power armor two dozen times or so. He hope whoever was wearing the suit didn’t decide to be too bold on their first mission as a Brotherhood Knight. The thought of them taking on a mirelurk or super mutant made his blood pressure spike.

“Cache acquired, Sir!” Squire Maddie called out, a brown wrapped package in her hands.

“Excellent work, let’s head back to the Airport and see what you all found.”

Knowing Layla, the packages were likely stuffed with snack cakes, robot figurines, and Nuka Cola.

As he leads the squires through the gate a squad was ahead of them, also heading to the airport; three soldiers: a Knight and a Sergeant, and a Paladin. They were all covered in the thickest layer of sludge Danse had ever seen and were making their way through the courtyard.

Strange, a Paladin and a Knight-Sergeant in the same squad, and that armor had the same ‘x’ on the back plate as his armor as well as the same slightly black paint Danse preferred and mixed specially for himself! The coincidence was too peculiar. That was _his armor_ , covered in god knows what! He’d be cleaning grime out of the joints for weeks!

“Paladin!”

The trio ahead of him stopped and turned towards the Paladin.

"You two are dismissed," Danse said to the Knight and Sergeant.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you Lawson, see you around,” the Sergeant said half-amused before clapping his fellow soldier on the shoulder and leaving.

Lawson turned to face Danse, his shoulder’s square, but his posture at ease.

Whatever good mood the Paladin has regained vanished as he set his sights on the poor man in _his_ filthy set of power armor. Danse was now beside himself with anger, “What is your name, soldier?”

“Mike Lawson,” the man’s voice crackled through the speaker, all too calmly for Danse’s liking.

“Tell me, Lawson, do you know the difference between left and right?”

The soldier shifted, “That I do, Paladin.”

“Then tell me how you mistook you power armor for my own set?”

“Uhh…”

Layla called him softly from behind but he ignored her and pressed on.

“And what in the Elder’s good name is covering it?”

“Mirelurk scat, heh, funny story too…”

Danse did a double take, his face red. Layla called to him again but he was too far gone to notice.

“Do you have any idea what it takes to clean Mirelurk shit out of hydraulic actuators?” Danse seethed, “I expect you have that armor so fucking clean by the day’s end I can eat a brahmin steak dinner off the chest plate. Do you understand me?”

A small crowd had now gathered around the two solders.

“Excuse me?” the soldier retorted, baffled.

“What part of ‘clean’ did you misunderstand, Knight?”

From somewhere behind Danse came the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat, followed by the unmistakable, stern voice of Elder Maxson, “Paladin.”

Danse turned and stood face to face with not only the Elder, but Proctor Ingram, four horrified squires hiding behind Layla, and a rather pale looking soldier wearing his perfectly clean and unharmed suit of power armor.

“I believe you owe Paladin Lawson an apology,” the Elder ordered, his tone severe.

* * *

Eight years had passed since the last time Danse had been reprimanded that harshly, though in all likelihood his own self criticism had made the ordeal worse. Paladin Lawson was thankfully a forgiving man and laughed the matter off in exchange for Danse cleaning his power armor, and the Elder had only slapped him with the menial task of taking stock of the Prydwen’s fusion cells and cores.

So that was how Danse found himself in the storage area at 2000 hours counting cells and cores. He sighed and leaned against a crate, running his hands over his face.

“This is single-handedly the most frustrating day I have had in recent memory,” he remarked to Layla, who had insisted on helping him with the inventory. She slipped off the crate she was sitting on and sauntered towards him.

“Chin up, Danse. The day’s almost over,” she smiled, looking around quickly to ensure they were alone before stepped up, slipped her hands around his waist and running them over his firm behind.

Danse tensed as she closed the space between them, the last thing he needed was to be caught fraternizing with his subordinate. It wasn’t that he was unwilling, they were normally more secluded, either in his quarters or far from the Prydwen and prying eyes.

“Let’s finish up here so I can help you…” she walked her fingers up his chest and brushed a thumb over his lush lower lip, “...relax.”

The paladin couldn’t suppress his shudder, “And what exactly did you have in mind, soldier?”

Layla purred, “I was thinking me, stripped down, maybe bent over your bed…” she kissed his neck, pausing a moment to suck on his pulse, “Or your desk..” she laid a path of kisses across his cheek, “Or clinging to your power armor.”

Danse grabbed her shoulders and kissed her hard, shoving his tongue between her grinning lips as she tried and failed to suppress a laugh. He pushed her backward until she collided with the storage crates full of fusion cells, his hand coming up to her neck and tangling in her hair as he kissed the breath out of her.

Layla was panting and flushed when they broke apart, his voice rumbling, “I’ve had a long day, Knight, don’t tease me.”

He accentuated the statement with a rough buck of his hips, pressing the growing bulge in his suit against her hip and stealing what little breath she had regained.

“What if I don’t want to stop?” she purred, her hands slipping over his hips and caressing his thighs.

Danse growled, “Insubordinate.”

If Danse had opened the zipper on her flight suit any faster he would have ripped it open. His mouth was on her collar before she could reply, his teeth digging into her and blurring the line between pleasure and pain. She liked it a little rough and he liked unwinding once and awhile.

Just like his hands, his kiss was rough, a mix of tongue and teeth, tension he wished to release from a day gone sideways. In hindsight, things could have been much worse and minor annoyances from a chain of unfortunate events was nothing to get bent out of shape over. Since he was banned from the armor bay for the evening, this was a perfectly reasonable way to blow off some steam.

With his passion unleashed and his stress fading, he couldn’t help but pull Layla towards him, placing kisses down her neck and chest. He pushed aside her bra and took her nipple between his lips, his tongue flitting over the tip. Layla’s hands groped at his collar as he mouthed her breast, sucking on her tit as she arched into him. Her muffled cry was music to his ears and sent a coil of heat down his spine, straight to his straining cock.

As she undid the zipper of his own suit, his lips found hers again, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she ran her hands over his firm chest. Danse gripped her hips when she slipped her hand into his uniform and around his length. A gasp escaped him when she began working his tip as he slowly began losing control of himself, his forehead resting against hers. He began grinding his hips against her, mindlessly, seeking some sort of relief from the tension growing in his gut.

Layla went to kneel but Danse grabbed her, his chest heaving, “No...not now…”

Danse kissed her, his hands pushed the uniform off her shoulders, her lips trembling against his as she fought to stay silent. Danse pushed her uniform to her hips and slipped his hand over her stomach and into her suit, his fingers finding her slick. The small circles he made on her nub made her cling to him as she moaned into his mouth. She broke away.

“Danse, we should… continue this in your room,” she breathed, but he was too far gone at this point to care anymore.

Instead, he pulled out his key ring and unlocked the storage closet that housed the stock of fusion cores aboard the Prydwen, ushering her inside. He stripped his uniform and rolled it into a tight ball to keep the automated door from swinging closed behind them.

“Door locks automatically…need to wedge it open,” he explained breathily as he turned her around and placed her hands on the workbench in the small closet.

He stripped her clothing off and she kicked off her boots. Danse pressed his chest to her back, he growled in her ear, “Don’t move.”

A quiver ran through his body as he felt her tense, a soft sigh of pleasure leaving her. He took himself in hand and aligned himself with her core, entering her slowly and sheathing himself to the hilt. Once fully seated he didn’t move, focusing on the feel her heat enveloping him, warm and soft. His hand moves around her body, finding her sex, wetness greeting his digits and he began to stroke her, teasing her nub until he feels her body pulse weakly, a surge that made his own body shudder. Again he caresses her nub, reveling in the throb of her core and breathy moans she makes, their frequency increasing and providing a sensation that travels down his spine and makes his own legs weak. Danse didn’t move, focusing on the feeling of her heat tightening around him as his strokes quickened, bringing her closer to release. He began slowly rocking his hips, willing himself not to thrust into her, not yet.

His free hand tightened on her hip as he commanded, “Come for me, soldier”

Layla’s body racked as she came, her hands flying to her mouth to muffle her cry as Danse finally broke, his hips slamming into her as her body pulse around his cock. The brutal pace he sets only seems to heighten her own orgasm as she calls his name and rides out her aftershocks on him. He can feel his stress ebbing with each powerful thrust, and before long Danse feels his own body coiling. When her body squeezes him for the second time he comes with a hoarse shout, pressing his hips into her and he empties himself.

In his daze, Danse steps away from Layla, his foot inadvertently nudging against something soft and he idly kicks it away.

The door to the storage locker closes with a soft click.

For a long moment, the only sound in the small room is their laboured breathing.

“Danse?”

“Yes. I just locked us in here.”

“...You just kicked your clothes out the door too.”

“Outstanding.”

Proctor Teagan found them forty-five minutes later, red-faced, and in Danse’s case, wearing nothing but his standard issue boxers. Both were fairly certain the whole Prydwen heard Teagan laugh.

 

And that, fellow wastelanders, was how Danse found himself scraping the rust off the Prydwen’s hull alongside the General of the Minutemen.

 

~END~

**Author's Note:**

> I proofread this a few times, but please point out any errors. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed.


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